Accidents, Mistakes, and Second Chances
by MySunnyDisposition
Summary: Stories don't always start at the beginning, and there can be gaps. These are the fillers. This is a collection of oneshots, missing scenes from Making God Laugh.
1. Accidents

_~ Accidents will occur in the best regulated families. ~ Charles Dickens_

 **This story ties into my Making God Laugh fic, but I think you can read this on its own, especially since I haven't revealed too much about Angela and Billy yet. This is just one glimpse into their story.  
**

So, I'm pregnant. Again. Well, not again, seeing as how the first time was a false alarm, but the bind I'm in sure is familiar.

And it's the worst time it could happen. I've just gotten a job I like, got back in school with a bunch of 'last chance' lectures, and my brothers are MIA on me. Curly is really MIA to everybody, but that's down to Tim playing travel agent and sending him to Canada. Tim is locked up, and for a long time too, so he ain't here to help me out, and it's down to me to handle it.

First and foremost, I'm trying to keep it under wraps, but it's only a matter of time before the doctor I went to sends the bill to the house. That means it's only a matter of time before Ma sees it. I figure I've got a few days before she kicks me out, for good this go around.

Anyway, I'm thinking I should tell the father. I've got no idea what I want from him, or what he'll do, but I'm not optimistic. Hard to hold out much hope seeing as how he's been avoiding me since we hooked up, but maybe he'll stick around long enough to hear what I've gotta say.

His name is Billy Gage, and just thinking about him makes me cringe, not because I don't like him, but because he's not my usual type. He's nice, his family's nice, and he's got money. I know how this will sound to him, how it'll look, and it makes me sick to my stomach. They're a cool bunch, even if they are socy, and now I'm gonna have to add them to my list of enemies.

To make matters worse, he's my boss's son. His mom owns the little clothing shop where I work. It's a cute place, and I actually enjoy being there, so that's one more good thing I'm gonna lose when I spill the beans on my situation. Guess I should start looking at the classifieds again.

I met Billy at the shop. He can sew, something he tries to keep secret because some of the guys at school already accuse of being queer just 'cause he's a nerd and quiet and not into sports. Even so, sometimes he helps his mom out with tailoring some of the outfits. He's real good too, even better than the old lady who usually does the alterations, and he's been teaching me some stitches. That is, he was, but then we ended up alone, ended up doing the deed, and he's been 'away' ever since.

I can only hope my boss doesn't already know. Maybe I can collect one last paycheck before Mrs. Gage fires me for having sullied her son. She's already been looking out the corner of her eye at me, and I wonder if she's guessed at my predicament.

I try to stop wondering as I knock on their door. The house is intimidating, not because it's big or anything, but because it's neat and clean and pretty. It's a middle-class neighborhood, which throws me, because Billy's family is well off enough to be in a more upscale place. I guess this saves money though.

"Angela?" Billy says questioningly, surprised to see me.

He looks awful. For starters, he's super skinny. I mean, he's naturally thin, but he looks like he dropped ten pounds in as many days. His cheeks are hollow, making his black framed glasses seem huge on his face, but at least they help to cover up the circles under his eyes.

"Hi," I say, trying not to lose my nerve, because my thoughts are running wild about why he's looking worse off than me. Maybe he's been worried I'd come to his door and have this conversation. Or maybe he's worried about something else and hasn't spared me a single thought since he got what he wanted. I'm not sure which would be worse.

"Can we talk?" I find myself asking, hating how small I sound, how small I feel.

He steps aside to let me in. "Yeah, sure."

I'm led to the kitchen, and he gestures for me to have a seat at a cute breakfast table in the corner. There's a clutter of envelopes and a box of tissues spread out. Billy is reaching for one of the tissues as we sit.

"I've not been well," he says apologetically, and I wonder if he's sorry for blowing snot out of his nose or for ditching me.

"That why you ain't been around lately?" I ask, and I know I'm being antagonistic, but hell if I'm gonna let myself fall apart in front of him.

Billy flinches. "Angela, I…"

He trails off, but from his tone, I can finish that sentence for him.

 _"Angela, I already have a girlfriend."_

 _"Angela, I had a good time, but it doesn't make you my girlfriend. You're not the girlfriend type."_

 _"Angela, I got what I wanted, so leave me alone. Not my fault you're easy."_

 _"Angela, I like banging you, but your brothers will kill me if they find out."_

I could write a book over every 'Angela, I…' sentence I've been subjected to at some point or another, and maybe it is my fault, but that doesn't mean I gotta like it.

"I'm pregnant," I blurt out before I can stop myself.

* * *

"W-what?" Even to my own ears, I sound dumbfounded, and I would laugh if this was happening to anyone else.

"I'm pregnant," Angela repeats, slower this time, like it's sinking in for her too. Then she's crying, and she's embarrassed about it, but she can't seem to stop. All in all, I think she has a right to cry.

"What do you want?" I ask, reaching to hand her a tissue.

She stands abruptly. "Nothing, I just… You just deserved to know, is all. But I don't want anything, and I'll get out of your hair, and you'll never have to see me again, okay?"

I furrow my eyebrows together, confused at her reaction, and then I spot my wallet just out of reach. I try not to take offense at the fact that she thought I was trying to pay her to go away. My hand wraps around the tissue box.

"I only meant, what do you want to do about this?"

"Oh." she takes the offered tissue, and I'm sure we're both feeling a little stupid. "I dunno."

I nod, my mind working fast, because Lord knows this seems like deja vu. "Well, I know what I want. Wanna hear me out?"

She's probably thinking I'm gonna offer her a place she can go to have the kid and give it away. Or maybe she assumes I could know a special doctor or something.

I think I throw her for a loop when I say, "I want to be a part of this kid's life."

She blinks. "Huh?"

"Easiest way for that to happen is for us to get married," I continue like I haven't heard her. "Now, I have issues I'm working through, but I would take care of you and our baby." Then I remember she's rather independent and hurriedly add, "Not that you need a man to take care of you or anything, but, Angela, you would want for nothing."

"Your parents would never let you marry me," she whispers disbelievingly.

I can't help but laugh. "My parents don't have much of a leg to stand on. I know they won't like that I was careless, but they won't disown me either. Besides, they like you."

It's true too. Mom is always gushing about what a good worker Angela is, because she can sell just about anything to anyone. And even though dad has never met her, he's only heard good things. I know Angela can be blunt and even cruel, but she's got a charm to her that draws a person in and makes them glad to know her.

"I was married before," she tells me, and I fight to keep my face blank, because I really don't wanna know about that.

"And you're not anymore?" I ask.

she shakes her head.

I force a shrug. "Then the rest is your business."

I can tell she's about to argue more when the door opens and Mom calls out a greeting. She and Dad shuffle into the kitchen and come upon Angela and me staring at each other.

"Oh, hello, Angela," Mom says, polite but confused about her presence.

"Hey, Mom," I say, "Angela and I are getting married."

Mom smiles like I just told her I'd joined the debate club. "Oh, congratulations. Do you need help with the wedding?"

Angela looks stunned, and I wish I had a camera, because I doubt she's often lost for words.

"Hold on a minute," Dad says, and Angela fidgets like she's expecting to be run out of the house.

Only, Mom kisses his cheek and says, "Let's not be the pot calling the kettle black, dear."

Dad's shoulders slump, and he's looking worried, but he nods and musters up a smile. "Well, did you give her the family ring, Bill?"

I shake my head. "To be honest, she hasn't accepted yet."

All eyes turn to Angela, and I can see her weighing all the options through her head. I might not know her as well as I ought to, but I know she'll say yes, because this is her best choice, but she's scared, and I can't blame her. I'm pretty terrified myself. What if this goes south, what if it's like last time, what if I lose my shit again?

"Yes," she squeaks eventually.

In spite of my fears, the smile I give her is genuine. "Good. Now, stay right here and give me a sec."

The ring is still in my room. Dad gave it to me what feels like ages ago. It's really only been a year. No, almost two.

I tried to give the damn thing back, but he refused. Said I'd have occasion to use it, even if it didn't seem like it at the time. Guess he was right, although I doubt he foresaw this particular set of circumstances. I know I didn't, but maybe I should've.

Anyway, I have the ring, and I put it on Angela's finger. It's a perfect fit, and I try not to read too much into that. I'm not big on symbolism.

"You want me with you when you tell your family?" I ask her gently.

That sets her off crying again, and I wonder if I've said something wrong. Mom just gives Angela a hug, telling her that hormones are awful and not to feel bad about the tears.

* * *

 **Really sorry if this feels ooc for Angela, but she's been through a lot, and she's kinda in shock. Billy's and his parents' unusual behavior will be explained in more glimpses, if my muses are willing. Anyway, I feel like I've come back to life here. It's been far too long since I wrote anything, and I can't tell you how happy I am right now. Hope y'all enjoy!**


	2. Confession and Regret

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders**

 **So, I know I was writing about Angela and Billy, but my mind jumps, and this has become a oneshot collection for all my characters in Making God Laugh.** ** **This is a nice surprise to me. I was writing a Steve/Anita oneshot, but Tim and Curly took over instead.****

 _~ Maybe all one can do is hope to end up with the right regrets. ~_ _Arthur Miller_

The church is empty in the dead of night. Or is it early morning? Whatever the time, it's empty, as even the priest has gone to bed, leaving no one for Curly Shepard to talk to. It's a miracle the doors are still open, but then, maybe not. Maybe everyone just mutually agrees there's not much to steal from a poor church in an even poorer neighborhood.

"What're you doing here?" someone asks, making him jump.

He whirls around, relieved to see it's just his brother. "Fuck's sake, give me a heart attack, why don't you?"

That unbearable smirk his brother is an expert at makes an appearance. "Shouldn't cuss in a church. Think it's a sin or something."

Curly's face heats up in embarrassment. "What do you know?"

"Lots," his brother claims. "Even the devil knows scripture."

"You ain't the devil, Tim," he says, although he wouldn't go so far as to say Tim is a good person either, but neither is Curly.

His brother shrugs, unbothered one way or the other. Curly shakes his head at the nonchalance. Geez, he's not asking Tim to don the collar, but some reverence would be appreciated.

"How'd you know I'd be here, Tim?"

The older boy tilts his head him. "You always took to church better than me and Angel, Curly, and I know you better than you'd like."

Curly figures that much is true. Despite Curly mostly visiting during off-hours, Tim's probably known all along that Curly comes to church on a semi-regular basis. Confession has always made Curly feel better, and there's always a laundry list of things to confess. Today, cowardice is added to the table.

"You know why I'm here?" Curly asks, voice small, feeling like the kid he hasn't been in ages.

Tim nods, calm as ever, which is infuriating and comforting at the same time. "Yeah, I saw the letter."

"Geez, Tim." Curly is weighed down with despair and resentment. "How'd the draft pass you over, huh? You just born lucky?"

"You know it," Tim says, because there's no way he'll admit he got deferred due to his asthma, even if he hasn't had an attack since he was twelve. Curly already knows, but he pretends he doesn't. He craves the illusion of Tim's invulnerability as much as Tim needs to have it.

Curly draws a shaky breath. "I can't go, Tim."

Tim's eyes narrow, his jaw sets, and he lights a smoke, illuminating his scarred face. "Didn't raise you to be a coward."

 _'Didn't raise me at all,'_ Curly wants to object, but he won't lie, not tonight. Because, of course Tim's raised him. Who else was gonna? Tim's taught him how to fight, how use a switch, steal a car, pick a lock, talk to girls. The list goes on and on.

"I ain't comin' back," Curly states with dull certainty.

"Sure, you will," Tim says, far too casual. "Just shoot them before they shoot you."

Curly trembles as his stomach churns. "I'm not a killer."

Tim sighs. "Yeah, I know, and you're right, Curly. If you go, you're not coming back."

The roots of terror in Curly's gut dig deeper. Oh, God, he's going to die. He's going to die without having lived, all because he's poor and dumb, and society deems him an acceptable loss.

"Am I too bad to make it heaven?" Curly asks.

Tim laughs bitterly. "Curly, you've always been the only one with any hope for heaven. Ma made sure of that, what with her babying you as much as she does."

The last bit is said with a goad. Tim wants Curly to fight, but the fear is just too much. He can talk a big game, he can use his fists, and he's left guys beaten and bloody in alleys, but he's never crossed the line to killing.

Tim exhales his smoke. "Okay, no more jokes. I knew as soon as I saw the letter, Curly. I knew if you went, you'd never make it back, so I've already gone 'round town, talked to a few guys, mapped out some prices."

"Prices for what?" Curly is confused.

"For getting you out of the country," Tim says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world, rendering Curly speechless.

Curly shakes his head, trying to figure if he's heard that right. "Huh?"

"Canada is out of our price range," Tim continues, like Curly's just supposed to keep up or something. "Mexico is closer, though, and less expensive. You know Spanish, right? Ma taught you?"

Curly is frozen to the spot. "Huh?"

Tim smacks him on the back of his head. "Say something else, will ya? Do you wanna go to Mexico, or don't you?"

"Uh…"

Tim snickers, amused at Curly's inability to speak, and throws an arm over Curly's shoulders. "I'm gonna go with yes."

* * *

Tim watches Curly flounder at the news he'll be leaving the country. Mexico is bound to be a whole different world, and Tim is glad his brother will get to see it.

"But I don't wanna leave home at all," Curly whines.

What a joke. Curly's been wanting out of his life since their dad died. Well, the little shit's finally gonna get the escape he's always been craving.

 _'Happy Birthday and Merry Christmas, Curly, for the rest of your life.'_

"Yeah, you do, Curls. Besides, I already paid for your little vacation, so you're going whether you like it or not."

Curly laughs, still in shock and blinking real fast. "Okay, but I hate that I have to."

Tim grins at him, believing that much at least, because Curly's never liked being ordered around. "I know."

"When do I leave?" Curly asks.

"Tonight, as soon as we walk out of here. Sorry you can't say goodbye to Angel and Ma, but there's no time."

Curly nods, but Tim can tell he's disappointed. Ma and Angela will be too, but they'll understand. They'll be happy enough he isn't going to war.

For his part, Tim is satisfied, and his smile has a long half-life as he watches his brother leave. When the regret at maybe never seeing Curly again surfaces, Tim shoves it away. His brother is alive, and he's gonna stay that way. There's nothing to regret.

* * *

 **Gosh, but I'm nervous about this one. I'm always nervous, truth be told, but this is me getting my feet wet again with writing. Hope I can get back into it.**


	3. Bitter Things

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Outsiders.**

 **I couldn't resist introducing the rest of Ponyboy/Mike's kids from my other fic, Making God Laugh.**

 _~ Family quarrels are bitter things. They don't go by any rules. They're not like aches or wounds; they're more like splits in the skin that won't heal because there's not enough material. ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald_

Rachel, Joe's mom, insists on having a pool party at her house for his graduation. But it's not the fun kind of pool party where there's games and stuff. It's more like the type that's just an excuse for the women to wear swimsuits while the men leer at them. I opt to stay in my jeans and t-shirt and pretend to admire the place. The house is bigger than ours, so it seems Rachel's done alright for herself. She knows how to marry well, if the pool is any indication.

Joe has just graduated with a masters in something or other. Someone told me what his degree was in, but I don't remember. I must've forgot in all the fun we're _so not_ having as we celebrate, because it feels more like we're being shown up than included.

"Why did Rachel invite us?" I whine to Courtney, my older half-sister, as I plop onto the pool chair next to her.

Courtney sighs as she readjusts her sunbathing position. "She likes sending Dad a message."

"What message?"

"That Joe is the only one of his kids worth loving, but Joe will never love him, because Joe's never looked up from sucking on his momma's tit."

I blush at the coarseness of her words, and Courtney smiles enigmatically. "Sometimes I forget you're still a child, Meg."

"I'm eleven," I snort, like that's gonna make me sound more mature.

"And losing your pudginess every day," she assures me, cruel smirk in place, and I despise her again.

I try to keep a blank face, but I know I look as hurt as I feel. I flip her off, but it only makes her laugh, frustrating me further. I shouldn't have let my guard down.

We only stand together against Joe, and that's where our tentative alliance ends. The rest of the time, she's just a bitch, and I need to stop hoping she'll wanna be a real big sister to me. Like Dad always says, life isn't a movie.

"Can I have a soda?" asks five-year-old Emma, the newest addition to our messed up family.

Dad's fling with Emma's mom was his way of coping with losing my mom, and I'm not sure how to act around her. Part of me wants to hate her, like I hate Courtney, but part of me also wants to be a better sister than Courtney is. I don't know what to choose.

I grab her a Coke from a nearby cooler and pop it open for her. "Only one."

Emma beams and scampers off with it to the pool's edge. I can tell she's curious about the water, but she's not allowed to jump in. She doesn't know how to swim, and I make a mental note to remind Dad to sign her up for lessons. I'll have to do it in a roundabout way, though, because there's no way in hell I'm gonna be seen as soft in this family.

Courtney's eyes follow Emma through her stupid, oversized sunglasses. "She's cute, isn't she? I wonder how long that'll last."

"Longer than it did with you."

Courtney shrugs as she sits up and slips into her coverup. "Yeah, probably, but why be cute when you can be sexy?"

I don't know what to say to that. She might have a point about me still being a kid. Courtney frowns and pats my head, her hand roughly bouncing off my skull twice.

"I'm gonna go find Connor," she tells me, although she has to know I don't care what she does. "Maybe we can make this party interesting."

That does make me smile. Those two are good at causing trouble, something I can appreciate when I'm not their main source of amusement, and this is just the place for it. I lean back in my chair, ready to watch the show or run, depending how dangerous it gets. And that's where Rachel finds me.

"Are you enjoying the party, Megan?" she asks in that sweetly poisonous plastic way of hers.

"Yep," I say curtly, hoping she'll accept it and leave me alone.

She grins down at me. "Oh, no need to lie. I know grown up things like this are probably boring to a kid like you."

"If you say so."

"I do. Why, I remember my parents throwing parties like this all the time. I had to go to every single one, starting from when I was about your age. You're what, eight now?"

"Eleven," I grit out for the second time that day. "I'm eleven."

"Oh, that's right, dear. Sorry. And I'm also sorry about your mother. It's been a few years already, hasn't it? It seems more recent than that, though. I imagine that's worse for you."

"I don't wanna talk about it," I tell her, shocked she's bringing it up. I really thought there was a limit on her pettiness.

"Of course not, dear. I'm sorry, both for you and your father. She truly made him happy, almost as happy as I did."

My fingers curl into fists, and I can feel my nails digging into my palms. "You don't make him very happy now, though, do you?"

She raises an eyebrow. "That's his own doing, sweetie. Besides, I'm committed Peter now."

Peter, the guy she married less than a year after she and Dad divorced, is a dork with the personality of a gnat. My dad might have his issues, but as far as broken men go, he's interesting. Peter isn't.

"Really? Because it sounds like you're still jealous, three women later."

Her face is a picture of shock, not so much at what I'm saying, but the fact I've said it at all. "I don't know what you're getting at, but–"

"You moved on. Fine, but he's allowed to do the same."

I run off to find Courtney before Rachel can say anything else. Courtney has many flaws, but at least she's always up for talking crap about Dad's first wife. She'll back me up on this. Only we're allowed to bitch about Dad, just like only Courtney and Connor are allowed to rag on their abusive mother, just like I'm the only one who can bring up my mom's death. We're awful people, but we have our rules.

I don't find Courtney, but I come upon Joe and Dad having a heated conversation in the kitchen. Dad seems to be trying to placate his oldest son, and it makes my blood boil. Joe doesn't deserve all of Dad's chances, not when Joe is the reason Dad keeps the rest of us at arm's length, the reason we have to earn Dad's love while Joe just throws it away.

"I was just trying to help," Dad is saying.

Joe snorts. "Right. Sounded to me like you were saying I couldn't get a job without you."

"I was just saying how I heard about a job opportunity."

"And you know some of the people hiring," Joe adds.

"It's not like I was offering to put in a good word or pull favors."

"Really?" Joe is incredulous. "That's sure what it sounded like to me. Just leave, Mike, and take your spawn with you."

"They're your siblings," Dad says defensively, but he's properly defeated with absolutely no more wind in his sails. "You could at least meet your new sister. She's curious about you."

Joe storms off without another word, and Dad finally notices me. I stiffen up, unsure what his reaction will be. He only shakes his head and slinks off to the backyard again. I stay there for a long moment, wishing we'd just leave. No one wants us here anyway.

"Emma!" Dad's cry startles me, and I run outside, because he sounds scared.

The scene that unfolds is one that stays with me for years. Emma is soaked to the bone, and she isn't moving, Dad is pressing on her chest, the guests watch in horror, and a drenched Joe is freaking out.

"I didn't mean to," Joe keeps saying. "I didn't mean to."

Emma coughs up water, and Dad holds her to his chest. "Thank God."

"Dad?" Joe says, sounding uncertain for once in his life.

"Meg." Dad stands up with a crying Emma in his arms, not even acknowledging Joe. "I'm taking Emma to the emergency room. Tell the twins to take you home."

Joe grabs Dad's arm. "Dad, I didn't know she couldn't swim."

Dad pulls away from his favorite child. "You know, you only call me 'Dad' when you want something from me, so what is it this time, forgiveness?"

"Yes." It's odd seeing Joe so desperate and scared, and a twisted part of me relishes it. "I didn't mean for her to fall in the pool."

"You shouldn't have pushed her at all, Joe. You're twenty-five, for fuck's sake! You should know better."

"I know, but I was mad, and I dove in after her at least, so–"

"No!" Dad cuts him off. "There's no excuse, Joe, not this time. You have no idea what it's like to almost drown!"

Joe's signature sneer comes back. "What, and you do?"

From Dad's expression, it seems like he's reappraising Joe and finding him lacking. "It's my fault. I created a Bob Sheldon with my own blood."

"What?" Joe's face scrunches up in confusion. "Who's Bob Sheldon?"

Dad doesn't answer, only says, "You're not my son anymore, Joe."

Rachel steps in with, "You don't really mean that."

"I do," Dad says. "Got what you wanted after all this time, didn't you Rach?"

Rachel gasps and closes her eyes like she has a right to be hurt after all she's put us through. This is her fault, her and Joe's. Peter, her supposedly better husband, pulls her away from the drama, but he doesn't say a word. What a spineless idiot.

"I should've known better," Dad says as he loads Emma in the backseat, and his eyes are misty.

It must be something in the air, because my own eyes sting as I run off to find my siblings. This whole day is shot.

"We need to leave," I tell Courtney, finally finding her near the shed in the side yard.

"Why, you think they won't like the show?" Connor is the picture of wicked glee. "We added some kick to the lame fireworks Rachel was gonna set off when it gets dark."

Courtney rubs her hands together. "I bet it's gonna scorch at least half of this manicured lawn."

"No, we need to go now," I insist, filling them in on what's happened while they were setting up their mischief, their eyes getting wider as I explain.

Connor clenches his jaw. "I'm gonna kill Joe."

Courtney puts her hands on her hips. "The hell you are."

"What, you can't honestly tell me you don't wanna pay him back for this?"

"Sure, but not tonight. We're too worked up, and starting anything now would be a mistake, so we'd better get going."

Connor scowls, still angry, but compliant. "Whatever you say."

We get to their car, and I wonder who messed us up the most? Was it really Joe, or Rachel, or Dad?

"Which of our moms does Dad hate the most?" I wonder out loud, hastily buckling up before Connor peels out in the street.

"Ours," Connor and Courtney answer in unison.

Their mother, Cheryl, was a two-timing basket case, or so I hear, but I don't think she's the winner.

"I think it's mine. She went and got killed before they could officially split."

"No, Izzy was..." Connor trails off and looks out his side window. "Well, she was tolerable, for a stepmom."

I'm almost sure that's a compliment.

"Yeah," Courtney agrees. "She got me and Connor into therapy for a while there, not that we needed it, but it was thoughtful."

"Not that we liked her or anything," Connor adds forcefully. "After all, she did ditch us for that job in LA. Ditched you too, Meg, don't forget."

"I don't," I whisper.

Courtney clears her throat. "Anyway, it could be Emma's. I mean, Dad paid her to go away, like he did our mom."

"That was different," Connor says. "Whatever he says, he did it because he thought it was best for Lori, so she could move on with her life. With Cheryl, he just wanted her away from us."

"And good riddance," Courtney mutters.

"Which do you hate the most?" I dare to ask. "Of our moms?"

"Rachel," they reply together.

I chew on the answer, and I see where they're coming from, but I think we're all lying to ourselves. I think we hate our own mothers and don't wanna admit it. I think we hate Dad too, but we're also protective of him. And there is no one, absolutely no one, we hate more than ourselves.

I lean back. "We don't make sense, do we?"

"'Course not," Courtney says. "We're people."

"And we're fucked up," Connor chips in.

They look at each other and crack up laughing. For once, I join in. There's nothing funny about it, but we're sick of crying. And somehow, in this warped moment, I feel part of a family.

 **If I'm being honest, these kids are still developing in my head as characters. I just wanted to write about them to solidify what's there, if that makes sense. Hope y'all enjoy!**


	4. The Evil Twin

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Outsiders.**

"I haven't been to see a therapist for over ten years," I confess to the pudgy man sitting across from me. "Been longer since I've seen one regularly."

"Why are you here now?" he asks.

He's fed up with me, and I don't blame him. I've been jerking him around for the past few weeks, talking in circles, giving him the silent treatment. It's not polite, considering I had to fight to get on his patient list. His schedule suggests he's in high demand, but I needed to test the waters. Gotta see who I'm dealing with, and I've got the sum of him now.

I give him a sheepish smile, play nice. I need to give him something, or I estimate it'll be two more sessions before he's trying to hand me off to one of the colleagues he shares his practice with. I can't let that happen. It has to be him.

"Sorry, Doc, I know I haven't been forthcoming, but I needed to get a read on you first."

That throws him, not because it's uncommon, but because he didn't pick up on it. People who size up therapists are usually more confrontational about it, or passive aggressive. I've just been passive, sans aggression.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, and I've concluded that I've got the right man."

Doc clears his throat. "How flattering."

"I don't know if coming here will help," I admit heavily, "but I had a bad weekend two months ago, and I know I need to talk to you."

"What happened?" he asks.

"You asked why I was here," I say, ignoring him.

The effort he makes to hide his frustration is adorable. "I did."

I relax in my chair. "I can't tell my family I love them."

"Do you?"

If he knew what brought me here, he'd understand how much that question rankles. "Yeah, but I wish I didn't."

He scribbles a note down. If I had to guess, he's marking my admission as a symptom of the problem, not the problem itself.

"Who makes up your family?"

"Dad, me, and my twin, Connor. There's my two younger half-sisters, Meg and Emma. Not sure if I should include him, but I also have an older half-brother, Joe." I pause. "And my mom, wherever she is.

He keys in on how I'm reluctant to mention my mother. "What's your first memory of your mother?"

"First time she made us cookies." I don't even bother to lie well.

He exudes disappointment, gives me the cliché, "I can't help you, if you're not honest with me."

Honesty? Is that what he wants? I can do that.

"Okay, Doc. Here goes."

XXX

 _I'm two years old and don't understand what I just saw my mother doing naked in the guest room with that man who is certainly not my father. She tells me I need to keep quiet about it, that it'll be our little secret. Then she spanks me when I won't stop asking questions._

 _I don't know why she's accusing me of having an attitude, or why I'm not allowed to tell Dad. I'm just curious about what was happening. Trying to explain this doesn't save my backside, which hurts for two days after. Mom hits hard._

 _Dad finds out all on his own, but it's a different man he catches her with. Mom still blames me. So, when Dad storms out of the house, I get another spanking._

 _Connor sees it this time, yells at Mom to leave me alone. He gets spanked too. We spend the rest of the evening taking turns between crying and comforting._

 _When he gets back, Dad assumes we were scared by the yelling and hugs us to him, promising it'll be okay._

 _He files for divorce the next day, and when it's all said and done, he doesn't get custody._

XXX

"That must've been incredibly difficult," Doc says. "Am I to assume you went to live with your mother?"

 _Isn't that what I just said?_

"Yeah, she got herself an apartment. Nothing fancy, but not a dump, paid for largely by the child support Connor and I brought in."

"Did she not get much from the divorce itself?"

"No, Dad had made her sign a prenup before they got hitched. That's why she fought so hard for us in court, so she'd still get something."

He makes more notes. "And how long did you stay with her?"

"'Bout three years."

I don't wait for him to ask why it wasn't longer, launching into the story.

XXX

 _Like Joe, Connor and I are only with Dad every other weekend, but we're on opposite weekends, so we don't often see Joe._

 _The rest of the time, we're with Mom, and I hate it. She drinks all the time, and she's moved past spanking. From then on, she's slapping us, pushing us around, and kicking at us like we're dogs._

 _I don't like the guys she brings over either. They dress different than the ones she saw when she and dad were still married, and these ones are meaner, have no qualms about smacking us around. We work up to telling Dad, but by then Mom gets sneaky about it, gets her 'friends' to be more careful too, and there's not much to be done without evidence._

 _Then one of Mom's new friends punches me in the face so hard, I still have a black eye when it's time for us to stay with Dad. Dad spots the bruise under all the powder Mom slapped on my face. He pretends he doesn't, though, until she leaves. Then he takes us to the police station._

 _I don't much appreciate being forced to explain to a cop what happened, but my five-year-old brain figures they don't need to know everything. They only need to hear that I got hit, not why._

 _Connor backs up what I've said, once he's stopped begging to pet the 'cute doggy' that's come in with another officer. I don't know what's so cute about an animal that could swallow us whole, but whatever. Connor comes through for me, goes on to say it's not the first time we've been hit, that Mommy hits us too, not just her friends. A report is filed, and we go home._

 _The incident allows Dad to finally get custody of us. The courts issue some mandatory therapy for Mom before she's allowed to see us again, through supervised visits only. Dad bribes her to get lost instead. I don't know why she goes. I'd have thought she'd stick around out of spite. Might be wishful thinking, but I suspect she's ashamed, since she can't properly look at me._

XXX

"Why did you get hit?"

Doc comes back into focus. "Gotta build up to that, and our time's up for today."

"Is it?" He glances at the clock to our left and sees exactly an hour has passed.

I haven't looked at it once, or my watch, and he jots down another scribble.

"Possible obsession with time," I say airily, guessing about the note. "I've got no problem admitting that one straight up. Makes me feel safer somehow, always knowing what time it is, and I've learned to be discrete about checking."

He doesn't know what to say, other than, "Make an appointment for next week with my secretary."

* * *

The day after my 'breakthrough' with Doc, I meet my brother for lunch, taking in his shaggy appearance. It's not fair that he looks so effortlessly cool. Sure, I can look badass too, but I have to work at it. And I always end up looking hot instead of cool, which is fine. Just ain't the same, is all.

But Connor? The guy's living in the office at my club, something I'm turning a blind eye to, and still manages to get three women eying him as soon as we walk in this picturesque café. Guess his style helps, makes him look like a cross between an auburn-haired Kurt Cobain and a younger version of Dad, although I can't picture our old man in denim.

"What?" Connor says, noticing me starting.

"I'm seeing a psychiatrist again," I say, switching my train of thought.

His eyes widen. "No shit?"

"No shit."

Can't say I blame him for being surprised. I decide not to shock him further by telling him Doc's practice is back in San Fran. I know it's a ridiculous commute to make once a week, but I have my reasons.

"Why?"

I shrug. "Stuff with Meg brought back some things."

"Because of her accident?"

It amazes me how naïve he can be after all we've been through. "You taught her how to drive, Connor. You really think it was an accident, on a dry road, with no other cars around?"

I regret putting it so bluntly when his skin turns three shades paler than its natural color. "They said it was at night, so I assumed…"

"She tried to off herself," I say, calm as ever, because I don't know how to be anything else. My stomach isn't churning. No way.

Connor is not calm. He stands up, movements jerky and abrupt as he storms out, causing the other patrons to pause their eating and watch him warily. I follow him to a nearby alley, allow him to freak out properly. Best if he gets it over with.

"Fuck," Connor croaks, then, louder, "Fuck!"

He lights a cigarette so fast I could almost believe it was magic. Usually, I hate when he smokes, but I can take a drag without coughing, and I hold out my hand for one. He lights it for me. We stand there, willing the nicotine to sooth our nerves, until he breaks the silence.

"Why'd she do it?"

I debate how much to tell him. "Shit at school, and Dad's gotten worse."

"How much worse?"

Now that's a complicated question. If Connor's asking me whether I think Dad's started handing out beatings, then no, but Emma did tell me he slapped Meg. I'm ninety-seven percent sure it was a onetime thing, an involuntary reaction of fear rather than a habit in the making. I don't mention it.

"Yells more," I say. "When he bothers to talk at all. You know how he is."

In my opinion, unprofessional though it is, Dad's a textbook case for depression. He's mostly numb, gets real down in the dumps, has unpredictable flares of anger, and thinks we all hate him. I don't hate him, not as much as I pity him anyway. Life's been chipping away at him for years, and what happened with Izzy did him in. I get it. Don't need to stick around and watch, though.

"Yeah," Connor agrees, "I know how he is."

XXX

"Let's talk about Joe, Ms. Curtis."

"Call me Courtney," I tell him casually.

His choosing Joe as our topic throws me for a loop. Figured we'd be tackling my issues with Mom again, but it seems he wants to knock me off balance. This could be interesting.

"Courtney," he says, "tell me about Joe."

"I think Joe loves his mother, and other than that, has few redeeming qualities."

Scribble, scribble. "Who is his mother?"

"A whiny princess named Rachel."

He latches onto that. "What's Rachel like?"

"Don't think of her as family, that's for sure."

"And why is that?"

I weigh the pros and cons of discussing Rachel, mentally debate if it'd be better to change the subject, decide to suck it up. "Too many reasons, but mostly because I'm almost sure she still wants Dad back. Thing is, she wants him fixed and good as new without having to put in any effort to get him there."

"Fixed?"

"Let's just say it wouldn't hurt him to give you a call."

"Ah." Another note. "And do you feel it's Rachel's responsibility to heal your father?"

"No, but she doesn't get to cut him deeper, to get jealous over anyone who does try to help."

"Like who?"

"Izzy."

He opens his mouth to ask who Izzy is, but I beat him to it.

XXX

 _Dad introduces Connor and me to Isabel Perez when we're eight. They've been dating for a while before now, but they only just decided to tell us, and that makes me feel like I've been lied to. So, I decide to hate her, writing her off as another Rachel. I act like a complete brat and convince Connor to do the same._

 _Isabel doesn't let it get to her, treating us with respect so unearned it hurts, and I find myself liking her against my will. There are two things that cinch it for me._

 _The first is, she tells us to call her Izzy, which is fun to say. Connor even makes little rhymes out of her name. Fizzy Izzy, who gets in a tizzy, spins us around, and makes us dizzy. See what I mean? Fun._

 _Secondly, when I come down with a cold, almost two months after our initial meeting, Izzy goes all out to take care of me. She makes chicken soup made from scratch, lets me have ice-cream for my sore throat, and she rents The Breakfast Club from the video store. I feel rebellious watching it, because when I asked to rent it the previous week, Dad said it was too mature for me._

 _Izzy takes off from work and watches that movie with me once a day, for four days straight. Molly Ringwald becomes my hero, because she's a redhead, and my hair is reddish too, but I identify with Ally Sheedy and Judd Nelson's characters the most. Anyway, the film becomes our movie, something just for Izzy and me, the first 'girl thing' I get to share with someone._

 _When they're confident they've well and truly won me over, and Connor by default, Dad and Izzy decide to get married._

 _It's a big wedding, crazy and fun, especially since Joe isn't allowed to come. Rachel forbade it, and I'm only upset that it made Dad upset. A Joe-free day is something to celebrate in my opinion. Besides, I meet lots of new family members to make up for his absence._

 _Izzy has a multitude of siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces, and nephews. I lose count of them, only remembering Jimmy and Teresa, another brother-sister duo. They're closest in age to me and Connor and are fascinated with us being twins._

 _Teresa goes by Tess, and she and I hit it off right away. She likes Molly Ringwald too, and we make plans to write over the summer, maybe pester our parents into arranging a sleep over. We don't understand how living in different cities might make it a hard sell._

 _On Dad's side of the family, there's only an uncle I've never met before, his family sitting awkwardly with him in the corner. Dad calls this uncle 'Darry', and I don't like him. He's got that look adults get when they're upset and trying to hide it. I don't know what his problem is, but I see Dad is having a good time until he goes over to Darry's table._

 _I don't hear most of what Darry says, except, "third one," which makes Dad's face crumble. Later, I realize he's berating my father for being on his third marriage. Apparently, Uncle Darry's real big on commitments and family. That's hypocritical of him, since he doesn't bother to properly meet me or Connor._

 _Aside from Darry, the wedding is a hit, and life after is even better._

 _Tess and I get to have that sleepover after all, her staying at our place for a couple of weeks that summer. We watch Molly Ringwald movies, she teaches me Spanish cuss words, and Izzy keeps us supplied in ice-cream and popcorn. On the weekends, Dad drives us around, acting as our tour guide as we show Tess all the sights._

 _Jimmy also tags along to keep Connor from feeling left out. He shows Connor how to throw a real punch, instead of just flailing around and hoping for the best. Connor says he'll try it against Joe next time he tries to pick a fight._

 _All good things must come to an end, though, and it feels like the end about three years later, when Izzy announces she's pregnant._

 _I go crazy, start acting out again, prompting a similar reaction in Connor. But I'm proud to say our tantrums are nothing compared to Joe's._

 _Joe rants about having another sibling, calls Izzy a slut, and says the baby's a bastard even though she and Dad are married. Dad grounds him for saying all that, which is when Rachel gets involved. She barges in during dinner, starts chewing Dad out for his 'rough treatment'._

 _"Can't you see he's just feeling insecure?" she simpers, talking like Joe is turning four instead of almost fourteen. "So are the twins, and you've done nothing to them."_

 _"Refusing to eat vegetables and not helping with house chores is a far cry from verbal abuse. Where'd Joe learn to talk like that anyway?"_

 _Rachel's face goes red. "Maybe from the Cheryl, or from the oh-so-perfect twins the skank gave you."_

 _"Don't call her that," I hear myself say, the whole situation making me feel distant, like I'm not really there._

 _Dad furrows his brow at my stoic demeanor and rests his hand on my shoulder. "Watch it, Rach. For all her faults, Cheryl is still their mom. And of course, the twins aren't perfect, but Joe needs to calm down."_

 _They go back and forth like that until Izzy suggests getting all us kids therapy. "To help with the sibling rivalry and the jealousy they feel over the new baby."_

 _Rachel flies off the handle. "How dare you suggest my son needs a shrink! I'm a good mother, you upstart, little–"_

 _"Enough!" Dad snaps._

 _Izzy gestures for Rachel to continue. "No, let her finish. Maybe we'll hear where Joe learns all his bad words."_

 _Dad shoots her an exasperated glare, but I see him trying not to laugh._

 _"Are you gonna let her talk to me like this?" Rachel demands to know._

 _My poor father is at the end of his rope. "You know what? I think I am."_

 _Rachel bursts into tears. Dad and Izzy glance awkwardly at each other before coming a compromise. Rachel will talk to Joe about watching his mouth, while Connor and I see the therapist._

XXX

"Did therapy help back then?"

I give a little nod. "Some."

He wants me to elaborate. "What's one thing you appreciated from therapy?"

I think on it. "It got us talking more, and Dad admitted something to us."

He sits up straighter. "Which was?"

"That the reason he was lenient with Joe was because he looked like his brother."

"His brother, Darry?"

I wish. "No, his other brother, who was in Vietnam. I don't know how he died, if the war got him, or if something happened after. Dad wouldn't say anything else."

Scribble, scratch, scribble. "What are your thoughts on this deceased relative?"

"Never met him. Don't miss him. Kinda hate him."

"Hate him?"

"You should've seen my dad's face, Doc. Not even I ever looked that broken." I point to the clock before he can say anything else. "Time's up."

* * *

"Feeling wild tonight?" Kyle says as I climb on top of him for a second time.

Kyle Caraway is from an upper-class family. So am I, but he doesn't know that.

It's easy enough to fool him when my apartment is a dump. I like it here because it's cheap, and I can save my pennies. Besides, I've never felt the need to hide away in a castle.

Also, I've never told him that I own the club where he met me. He thinks I'm simply a cocktail waitress there, assumes I'm from a neighborhood like this one or worse. It's why he'll never treat me as anything but a casual fuck buddy.

"You've never seen me wild," I whisper in his ear.

Wild is losing my innocence to a biker in an open field. It's treating sex like a video game, always dialing up the levels. It's learning how to strip like a pro from Tess, who needed the cash to get through school, until I'm more confident naked than most people are fully clothed.

Riding a guy twice in one night isn't wild, but it's all relative. Kyle's frame of reference is different than mine, sheltered boy that he is, and I wonder how the hell we can be nearly the same age when he's so much younger than me.

I don't know why I like him. Could be, I like dirtying him up some, exposing him to my madness. Mostly, I like how he makes me feel. Feel what, I don't know, but I feel something.

After round two, I ask him when he estimates he'll make up with Tammy this time. He thinks it's cool how I don't mind talking about his on-again-off-again girlfriend. I do mind, but not enough to make a fuss. Kyle's not the only guy I keep on reserve, so I don't have any right to be upset, do I?

"Probably a month," he says. "She said we were done 'for real' this time, so it'll be longer than our usual two weeks. Part of me wishes we _were_ done, because this is getting tedious, but her mom and mine will push us together again, and our fathers will back them up, and we'll cave like we always do."

I let him talk, knowing that's what he comes here for, maybe more than the sex. I think of my new doctor and suppose I'm part therapist myself sometimes.

Speaking of, I wonder if I ought to mention this to Doc. What would he think about why I sleep around, why I let this guy use me? My bet is he'd say it's about control, about doing something on my terms, and since I already know that, I don't need to bring it up.

XXX

"Relationships are stupid," I start right off the bat next session. "And love is a lie."

"Why do you say that?"

I lean back, tilt my head up at the ceiling. "Just is. Why bother when everyone leaves one way or another?"

"Leave how?"

"Jeez, take your pick, Doc. Mom left for money, Dad left emotionally, the guy I'm seeing leaves for his ex, and Izzy…"

The way I trail off gets his attention. "What about Izzy?"

I sit back up. "Izzy was pregnant. I told you about that, didn't I?"

"You did."

"She named the baby Megan, after a college friend of hers, I think. We just call her Meg."

XXX

 _Connor takes a liking to our new sister before I do. He pampers the hell out of her, holding her, feeding her, playing with her, trying to get her to say she wants a dog when she can't say 'dada' yet._

 _I hang back, still wary, sure this kid is gonna 'displace me', as Dr. Huber would say._

 _"She's not so bad," Connor says, as she drools on him._

 _It's not fair that he's so good with a baby. He's only eleven. Shouldn't he be confused and freaked out by her too? Or maybe not pay her any mind?_

 _Turns out my jealousy wasn't to come from the refocused attention of Dad and Izzy after all. Instead, I feel like I'm losing my brother, my partner in crime. Meg can't be that interesting, not when she can't even talk._

 _I write to Tess about it, and she's sympathetic. She writes back about how she has a bunch of little cousins she's always having to babysit, for free no less, and she'd just go out of her mind if she had a little sister to look out for too. I'm glad someone gets it._

 _So, it takes me a while to accept Meg, but I warm up to her eventually._

 _My best memory of her is when she's about five. That's when Connor, my sixteen-year-old, I-can-take-on-the-world twin bursts into tears as he catches sight of Dad's newspaper._

 _Dad freaks out. "What is it? What's wrong?"_

 _I explain that the headline announces Kurt Cobain's suicide. Dad skims the article, and I expect him to grumble that it's just a celebrity, but he softens and tells Connor he can stay home from school if he wants. I get the green light too, in case Connor needs looking after, and Meg demands to help. Izzy might be upset later, but Dad caves, telling me to watch them both.  
_

 _I don't get it. I mean, I can see it's sad news, but I don't understand how Connor can feel so personally affected. We've been through worse, haven't we, with people we actually know?_

 _"Who is he?" Meg asks as she sees the picture Connor is sniffling over._

 _"Nirvana's lead singer," I tell her as Connor collects himself._

 _Meg tilts her head, dark hair falling over her face. "What's Nirvana?"_

 _Connor's sniffles some more. "Only the best band ever."_

 _I roll my eyes. Don't get me wrong, I like some of their songs, but 'best band ever' is a stretch._

 _Then again, maybe I'm not the best person to ask. I know I don't look it, but I'm a fan of country music. Started as a way to mildly annoy my family, and it grew on me. But that's not the point._

 _Point is, I think this is a gross over reaction. Of course, I don't say that, but I don't wallow with Connor either. Meg is oozing sympathy, though._

 _"What're some of their songs?" she asks._

 _Connor digs his portable CD player from his backpack and puts the headphones over her ears. I make a mental note to remind Izzy, Connor wants new headphones for his birthday. Then I watch as Meg starts nodding and singing to the music. She's getting most of the words wrong, but it makes Connor smile. As I behold their lame jam session, I envision flannel shirts and denim jackets in Meg's future._

 _"Sing with us!" she squeals as she hums_ Come as You Are _._

 _I look at her, look at Connor, sigh, and join in. I don't know how long we stay there, but that's where Izzy finds us when she comes home much earlier than usual. She's teary eyed too, and I briefly wonder if she's also upset by Cobain's demise._

 _She's not, hasn't even heard about it. No, she's got worse news. Her father passed away._

XXX

 _I've never been to a funeral before we attend the one for Izzy's dad. First time I've ever been to Los Angeles too, and I kinda like it, wishing I could've visited under better circumstances. It has a different feel from San Francisco._

 _Tess tells me to come back another time, and she'll show me around her favorite places, places the tourists don't know about. I intend to take her up on that, although I feel a bit guilty at making travel plans during such a somber event._

 _"Don't worry," Tess says. "Mexican funerals are always part family reunion too, so it's not all teardrops and rain."_

 _She's right. The reception after needs be held at a community center to include everybody in attendance. There's a ton of food, kids are running around outside, and everyone's swapping stories._

 _The content of the stories ranges from snippets about the deceased to news about other relatives. I am swiftly caught up on who's doing what, and where, and why, and who's not here, and why, and who's in jail, and who's pregnant, who's getting married, and good gracious, look who showed up._

 _We don't get back to the hotel until late, and the next morning at our complimentary breakfast, Izzy has more news._

 _"My uncle needs help at the firm," she says. "He and dad started it, and he asked if I could help out until he finds someone else to take over."_

 _Dad stills, his pancake laden fork hanging inches from his mouth. "You mean, you'd stay here?"_

 _Izzy holds his searching gaze. "Yes, if I agreed to help, I'd stay here for a while."_

 _Connor taps Meg's shoulder, and they scoot over to another table. I follow, not wanting to hear what Dad and Izzy are saying. I don't need to. I can see their tense postures, hear the harshness of their whispers._

 _Izzy stays in LA, and the next few months are hell. Dad is running around like a headless chicken, Meg is asking when her mother is coming home, and I get a job at a bar with my first fake ID. Connor gets a fake too, uses it to buy cigarettes, taking up smoking as a way to cope. I'm just grateful Joe's away at college, so we're free of his bullshit during this hectic time._

 _Dad and Izzy's phone calls get louder as the weeks go by, and one day I hear him shout something along the lines of, "We may as well get divorced then!"_

 _I calmly explain to Meg that her parents might not live together again. She cries to Connor. He berates me for telling her._

 _"She's too young to understand," he says._

 _I thought I was helping. "Just trying to prepare her."_

 _Turns out Dad and Izzy don't ever get divorced, because she gets shot on the way to her car from her uncle's offices. Mugging gone wrong, the cops say. They never do catch the guy._

 _Dad holds it together surprisingly well as we drive back to LA, as Meg cries through the funeral, as we go to the same cemetery from a few months earlier. Izzy's got a spot near her father._

 _He even holds it together when Uncle Darry shows up, no family with him this time. Darry offers his condolences, tells Dad to call sometime and not get stuck in a vacuum 'like before'. Dad nods through the entire exchange, too numb to say a word._

 _I follow Darry out to his car, kick the back tire of his rental hard enough to make him turn around. He stares at me a moment, and I hold out my hand._

 _"I'm Courtney," I say, "since you never asked."_

 _He sighs. "Look, kid, I'm sorry about your stepmom, but that's no reason to throw a fit."_

 _My hand falls back to my side. Fit? No, he hasn't seen a fit yet. I don't throw fits. Fits are for children and Joe. What I have is an off switch that makes me impervious to anyone's bullshit. Izzy called it my glacier-mode._

 _I let myself see through Darry, stare him down until I've got him figured out, and then I strike. "Dad's your last brother."_

 _His hands play with his keys. "Yeah, I know."_

 _"Your last brother," I press on, "and you make him feel worthless, so the next time you think about visiting, don't."_

 _"Hang on–" he starts, anger and pain in those icy blue eyes of his._

 _If it's a competition of who's colder, he's just lost. I turn my back on him and walk away, knowing it'll hurt more than if I were to stay and argue. He doesn't run after me, but Connor was waiting not far away, in case he did._

 _"Think we'll see him again?" Connor asks, cigarette between his lips._

 _I hope not._

 _"No."_

 _"You know," Connor says after a moment, "Izzy should've just come home. None of this would've happened if she hadn't stayed here."_

 _The bitterness closing around him is palpable. Poor Meg. She's losing her caring big brother and getting a spiteful shadow of him in return. As for me, I've got my sidekick back._

 _"We've gone soft," I murmur._

 _Connor grins, looking all the world like a caged wolf who just got sprung. "Think it's time we fixed that."_

 _We do._

XXX

"How did you 'fix' being soft?"

I smile serenely. "Stopped going to therapy for a start."

He jots something down, scans his paper. "Do you really think Darry makes your father worse?"

Doc has no idea.

There was a Thanksgiving, a few years before Izzy's murder, when Darry came over with his brats and his wife. He mentioned Rachel so much I almost thought he had a thing for her.

At least his wife was sweet, or we'd never have gotten through dinner, but Darry still never said a word to Connor and me, or even acknowledged Meg, only asking about Joe. Izzy kept herself composed, but it hurt her. I remember it hurt her.

But we can't unpack that today. "Sorry. Time's up."

* * *

"Tell me about Emma," Doc says. "You haven't mentioned her yet."

I take a moment to respond. My mind's on Abigail Ruiz, Doc's secretary. Before the session started, she popped in to tell us she's taking an early lunch, something out of character for her.

Abigail is a receptionist, not a secretary, and she takes care of all of the doctors' appointments, not just Doc's. But Doc treats her like she's only there for him. That's why, when Doc is anywhere near her, she all but snarls at him, ruining her sweet face.

I don't blame her. Arrogance aside, he's not even worth his salt as a shrink. If he was, he'd make me stick to a topic, delve deeper, not go wider. But he doesn't care about helping me. He wants to hear more stories, hear how it ends, and he doesn't need to know about little Emma for that.

I change the subject. "I'm ready to talk about what brought me back to therapy."

His eagerness, the way he squirms in his seat, makes me confident in my decision. It's choices like this that make me glad my trauma is so entertaining.

XXX

 _Meg has an accident, and I only hear about it after she's out of the hospital._

 _I hit the road late Saturday, get in by Sunday morning, but I don't go to the house right away. Something doesn't feel right about the whole thing, so I track down String-bean Dean instead. He's been her best friend since sixth grade. If anyone knows what really went down, it'll be him._

 _He doesn't like me, doesn't like how I call him String-bean, or that he's always found me intimidating. I work the intimidation to my advantage, and he folds like a cheap suit. String-bean says he thinks Meg crashed her car on purpose._

 _He says he told Meg not to fall for Jason's bullshit, and I remember the name. Meg didn't listen, and String-bean goes on to say, maybe if she had, she wouldn't be in this situation. I slap the back of his head, tell him to never even think that again, especially not near Meg. She'll go to pieces if he turns on her._

 _I go to the house, send a rambling Emma to her room, barge into Meg's._

 _"Ever hear of knocking?" is all Meg says to me._

 _She looks awful, and I wanna hit her. I wanna shake her, ask her, didn't I warn her to be careful about underhanded sleazes like this Jason guy she gave it up to? An irrational part of me also wants to hug her._

 _But all I do is say, "You're going back to school tomorrow?"_

 _She nods, face closed off in a way that's all too familiar. We don't look remotely alike, but no one could tell us apart today._

 _"I'm choosing your outfit," I tell her._

 _There's a spark in those dark eyes. She's angry. That's good._

 _With a scowl, she lights a cigarette, not even scared of getting caught with it in the house. I'm almost proud, except I despise smoke. I absently blame Connor for getting her in the habit, leaving his packs around all the time._

 _"I don't need your help."_

 _"I wasn't asking." I open a window to air out the room. "Knowing your lack of fashion sense, you'd walk out the door in a trash bag."_

 _The scowl deepens. "Be better than looking like a hooker."_

 _I let the taunt slide. "Whatever I dress you in, you better wear it with confidence. I don't wanna hear that you spent the whole day looking at your shoes."_

 _"What do you care?" she mumbles around her smoke. "Thought you hated me."_

 _"I do," I assure her, but I don't elaborate or answer her question._

 _It's simple really. She's my sister, and I don't believe in letting guys like Jason win, guys who hurt little girls and give them black eyes. I shut down an unwanted memory and enter glacier-mode. Meg needs the icy bitch, not the fellow victim._

 _Weirdly, my proclamation of hate relaxes Meg, enough for her to softly admit, "I thought he liked me."_

 _If I knew for sure I could get away with it, Jason would be dead by nightfall. I tear away from that train of thought, lest I break my hand on the wall, and I feel that ridiculous urge to hug her again. I don't._

 _"Shows how dumb you are."_

 _She becomes stone once more, stowing the vulnerability. Good. She can't afford to show weakness, not while the whole school is whispering behind her back about her indiscretion. The gossip will be compounded by the timing of her 'accident' too. What a mess._

 _"Not as dumb as you."_

 _It's a weak insult, but I narrow my eyes like I'm really offended. "Just for that, I'm doing your makeup too."_

 _"I hate you," she whispers, and it's like she's saying the opposite._

 _"Ditto," I say, meaning the same thing._

 _I can't say it, though. Can't tell her I love her, that this never should've happened to her, that I'm sorry, that I'd kill Jason for her, if she said it'd make her feel better. I realize I've never said it, to anyone, and I wonder what the fuck is wrong with me._

XXX

"I don't understand," Doc says when I finish. "Did this Jason sexually assault your sister?"

Of course, that's what he'd take away from my narrative. He doesn't even pick up on the clues I've left for him about why I got that black eye all those years ago. Typical, but it works to my advantage, because I was never gonna go in depth about that anyway.

"No, Doc. That's the only reason I haven't completely lost my shit. Meg says it was consensual, and from her description, not half bad for a girl's first time."

He's confused. "Then why was she so upset, because he boasted about it?"

"Yeah, and because right after they did it, he told her it was all for bragging rights and cash. When she started to cry, he laughed and told to get her out of his house."

"But it wasn't rape," he clarifies.

And this is where I deliver the punchline. "Suppose not. Still, what a shitty thing for Jason Brice to do."

Doc is frozen. "Jason Brice?"

"Oh yeah," I yawn, stretch like a cat. "That's your son, isn't it?"

There's a panicky look animals get when a predator's nearby. That's Doc all over. Hello, little mouse.

"Y-yes, yes, it is."

Glacier-mode takes over, and I shed the charm, the feigned openness. "I talk big, but I don't actually like threatening kids. Their parents, though? Fair game."

Dr. Brice stands up and backs away from me. "What do you want?"

"To finish the story," I say, rising from my own chair with deliberate slowness.

"O-okay, and, uh, how are you going to do that?"

"I never told you what Joe does for a living, did I?"

His head wags side to side. "No."

"He's a forensic accountant, and while I don't like to compliment him, I have to admit he's good at his job. This is important, because I started to watch you and your family, and I realized that you live far above your means, even for an overpriced shrink."

Doc's brows are furrowed, trying to see the big picture. I give him more pieces, let him put it together, what I've been up to.

"Then I got to talking with that lovely receptionist of yours, and she was beyond eager to help me dig up dirt on you. Come to find out, you've been writing prescriptions for fake patients. I can only imagine what you're doing that for."

He's gaping, trying to figure out how to explain it away. I twist the knife.

"We also uncovered evidence that suggests you're stealing from the practice. I wonder what your partners will think of such a thing."

"You can't prove anything," he squeaks, but he doesn't really believe that.

"Abigail is giving a statement to the police now. She's decided she won't work for a thieving drug dealer anymore, and she's got documents to back her up."

Doc swallows thickly. "The cops won't be able to make sense of those."

"Even if that were true, that's where Joe comes in. He owes us, see, and you don't need to know why. All you need to know is, he'll be loaning his expertise to this cop friend of his, just a casual thing, to alleviate boredom and help them unravel all those pesky financial statements."

It's getting harder for Doc to breathe, and he loosens his tie, coming to terms with his crumbling world. "Why?"

Wow, he truly is a shit listener. "Told you, I can't tell my family I love them, but it's okay. Actions speak louder than words."

He puts his head in his hands. "You're insane."

"And you're a bad father," I whisper, because he really should've raised his kid better. "And when they freeze your assets, take away your house, and drag your name through the mud, I want you to know it was all Jason's fault."

My job is done, and I turn to go, but he calls out, "Wait!"

"Yes?"

"Was anything you told me true?"

He still wants the story, I realize. I regard him steadily. Yeah, every word was true. The truth yields more pain than any lie, but I leave him in suspense, incline my head toward the clock.

"We've gone over time, Doc "

* * *

Joe calls me up less than a week later while I'm closing up the club with Connor. "Courtney, you know that guy you set me onto?"

I hold my cell next to my ear with my shoulder and keep sweeping, hoping Connor doesn't pick up on who I'm talking to, or why. "Yeah."

Connor narrows his eyes, and I mentally swear at his inconvenient intuitiveness. I flash him a grin to ease his mind and give Joe my full attention.

Briefly, I wonder if I've broken any rules posing as Doc's patient. I got Abby to keep my name off the books, so I should be in the clear, but even the best laid plans can go pear shaped.

"He blew his brains out," Joe says, voice low, and I wonder why he's calling if he can't speak freely right now. "Know anything about that?"

It means nothing to me, which is terrifying in and of itself, but at least I'm able to give a clear answer in the negative. "No."

He breathes deeply. "Okay. That's good. Gotta go."

"Everything okay?" Connor asks, still loitering behind me.

What can I say, I drove a man to suicide and feel no remorse? No chance.

"Yeah," I say. "Why wouldn't it be?"

Connor sighs and stops his rag mid-wipe on one of the tables. "Remember when you opened this place?"

XXX

 _Everyone in high school used to talk about how Courtney can down alcohol like water, but they got it wrong. No doubt she has a decent tolerance, but she's not a heavy drinker, and she never wants to be. I don't think she'll ever stop trying to be Mom's opposite, where she can. She's just good at fooling people._

 _Courtney likes the club and bar scene, though, and ever since her first fake, she's wanted to open her own place._

 _She could go to college, like I do, maybe get a management degree. Dad offers to pay for her tuition, same as mine, but it's not for her. Instead, she starts pitching her idea to investors straight out of high school._

 _The investors are a perverted bunch. They're mostly old guys who work with our dad, or used to, and they like to stare at my sister's legs. They make a lot of lewd comments about remembering Mom, and Courtney can't even say anything, because it's not like it isn't true._

 _"Keep an eye on them," Dad orders me. "Can't helped it if they fucked my wife, but I'll kill them if they touch my daughter."_

 _"You'll have to get in line," I say._

 _But Court can handle herself, and she gets their money without having to do them favors. She also keeps them so distracted they don't notice how she gives herself most of the power. Or maybe they do notice and don't care so long as she stays sweet and gives them a little show of skin._

 _"Why'd you call it_ The Evil Twin _?" I ask her as we stand outside. She's giving me a tour before the opening night._

 _"'Cause I'm meaner than you," is her answer as I admire the florescent title, amazed at how well her hard work has paid off._

 _She's twenty-four with her own business. How many people can say that?_

 _I snort and stroll inside. "No, you just look it."_

 _She'll never believe me, thinks I'm trying to spare her feelings. All she sees is how much she's not, because she's not what she should be in people's eyes. I can kinda see what she means._

 _Most people hear the name 'Courtney' and picture a wholesome blonde who gets straight A's and plays volleyball or joins the cheer squad._

 _That's not her. She's our family's guardian, armed with a cutthroat attitude, bad taste in music, and a good heart._

 _And under the guardian, she's a little girl. The little girl can't stand being called pretty, hates to have her hair brushed by someone else, and gets sick at the mere thought of blood in her mouth. I'm older than her, but she's always been stronger, and I'm so damn proud of her._

 _"Thank you," I say, but the words are insignificant, because nothing can ever express how grateful I am for her._

 _"For what?" She's genuinely confused._

 _I crack a grin. "For the job you're gonna give me. You said I could bartend, right?"_

 _"About that," she says, all impish joy now. "Consider this your interview, and pour me a drink."_

XXX

"What's your point?" I ask once Connor's done reliving that night.

"That I'm due a raise." His sarcasm cuts me. "What do you think, Court? It's not your fault, none of it, not what happened back then, and not whatever's got you spooked now."

My throat feels funny, and my guts are twisting. "You don't know what I did."

He shrugs. "Don't care. You're not my 'evil twin' or the 'bad one'. You're my sister, and I love you, and you love me."

I don't look up at him, just keep sweeping the floor, which is oddly blurry. "I can't say it."

"You don't need to."

My grip on the broom tightens. "Yes, I do."

He starts wiping the table again. "Then we'll work on it. No rush."

No rush? I take the reprieve and start breathing again. It hurts, and the air tastes like smoke, but I'm alive.

 **No quote this time. Nothing seemed to fit, but I hope y'all liked this rather bleak and extensive look inside Courtney's mind.  
**


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